


By The Years

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bisexual Dean, Bisexuality, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Misogyny, Pansexual Character, because he's really pan but he probably wouldn't know that term, not really Dean/Cas but hinted at
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-08
Updated: 2013-11-08
Packaged: 2017-12-31 21:57:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1036827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They were kids, and kids are curious. <br/>	It was just a simple touch of lips; Dean hadn't expected his father to be so livid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	By The Years

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a while since anything's been posted here, but given that this is for class (a totally real, awesome class), I finally got some writing done. Not as good as it should be, but it is what it is. c:

The first time Dean had a crush was when he was nine years old and the owner of the motel they were staying at that week had a son around his age. By the time he was in his thirties, Dean didn't remember the little boy's name anymore, but he remembered the story well. Dean hadn't seen anything wrong with his little crush, and since they'd gotten along so well, the owner of the motel was more than happy to watch him and Sam while John was out. All she really had to do was let Dean take care of Sam and play with her own son, trucks and legos and even little plastic ponies in a variety of rainbow colors. His mom was a really progressive woman for the time, and after her son's sister had moved on from her toys and he'd wanted to play with them, she let him. 

John had seen the ponies, though, the third day that he came back from hunting that week, and reprimanded Dean not to play with girl toys. Dean had refused to touch them for the rest of the week. That didn't mean that he stopped talking to his new friend, or stopped playing with him. Sam played with them, too, but he was a five years old and took a lot of naps. When he wasn't with them, Dean and his friend would play games for older kids. 

He remembered well, the time on the last day that they'd stayed there, when he and his friend were holding hands and wandering around the motel parking lot. Dean was excited, because he didn't know what the fluttery feeling in his stomach was, but he liked it, and his friend seemed to like him too.

They were kids, and kids are curious. 

It was just a simple touch of lips; Dean hadn't expected his father to be so livid. 

He hadn't noticed the car pulling up into the motel parking lot, and his father wrenching them apart by the shoulders, looking down at Dean with a look of disgust that turned his stomach over. John had given the other little boy a withering look and told Dean to go get his brother. 

That night, they'd had a talk, and Dean came away from it remembering that he wasn't supposed to think about boys that way, that it wans't manly and it wasn't right. If Dean wanted to grow up and be a proper hunter, he couldn't do things like that. It was a dangerous world for _faggots_ , his father had said, and he wasn't about to let his son be one. Dean understood that his father wanted to protect him and made a vow that he would never kiss a boy again. 

When Dean was fourteen, he broke the rules again. He'd come into his own the year before, and his interest in boys, as well as girls, had become much more than just hand holding and kisses. Because that was the kind of person his father was, Dean had started serial-dating girls and making out with them wherever he could. It was what was expected of him, as a manly, macho hunter. Real relationships were for the weak, but using women to get your rocks off was just fine as far as John was concerned. And if Dean looked at other male students' asses while he was in the hallways, well, no one had to know. 

And if sometimes he thought about kissing them, and if sometimes he actually did, no one had to know, Especially not his father. 

When Dean was 21, he'd been drinking already for a few years, allowed by his own father, who didn't see anything wrong with it because when he'd been Dean's age, he was legal to drink, and he hadn't seen any issues with it. The difference, however, between drinking at home and drinking in a bar were the people. If he went out to a bar to drink, there were people flirting with him, and they weren't always women. 

Dean hadn't kissed a boy since he was a high school junior, groping under bleachers after school, telling his dad he'd had detention. He'd been repressing it ever since, wanting to live up to his father's standards. But right now, at this particular moment, he was stressed. His brother was looking into colleges, and given how smart he was, Dean knew that he was going to get in. Sam was going to leave him and his dad was going to be pissed at Dean for letting it happen. 

Sam had always been John's favorite. He was everything that John wanted his sons to be: masculine, smart, straight. And fuck, Dean had accepted a long time ago that he wasn't going to be the man that John wanted him to be, so why not accept this facet of who he was and go along with it?

He went home with the first guy who looked his way and that was that. 

When Dean was twenty-six, he'd all but pushed those memories out of his head. It was easier to believe that he was as straight as he was supposed to be when he thought as much, too. Embracing it hadn't worked; he'd only ended up with a sore ass and an aching guilt in his gut for disobeying his father and shame of the person that he was. A few times where he had tried out the waters of the other side didn't mean he was anything but straight, and of course he hadn't liked it. It was disgusting, and Dean was a good son, he was a good person. 

When he was twenty-seven his father was dead, but he was still in denial. 

At twenty-eight he was too concerned with everything else to really think about what it meant that he liked to look at guys' asses. 

At thirty (seventy), he was pulled out of Hell approached by a strange angel in a barn. There was no way he could stop the thoughts that came to mind, but he did deny them. 

Dean was thirty-four (seventy-four) when he was sent to Purgatory. And Purgatory was free. He met Benny and he looked for Castiel. He clawed his way back to the surface, back with the living, and all of his shame had been finally _finally_ cleared away. 


End file.
